"Ay, 'deed is't, Deacon," answered the landlady and yet I wonder our gentry leave their ain wark to the like o' him. --But as lang as silver's current, Deacon, folk maunna look ower nicely at what king's head's on't."
"I doubt Glossin will prove but shand [*Cant expression for base coin] after a', mistress," said Jabos, as he passed through the little lobby beside the bar; "but this is a gude half-crown ony way."
A man that apprehends death to be no more dreadful but as a drunken sleep; careless, reckless, and fearless of what's past, present, or to come; insensible of mortality, and desperately mortal. Measure for Measure.
Glossin had made careful minutes of the information derived from these examinations. They threw little light upon the story, so far as he understood its purport; but the better informed reader has received, through means of this investigation, an account of Brown's proceedings, between the moment when we left him upon his walk to Kippletringan, the time when, stung, by jealousy, he so rashly and unhappily presented himself before Julia Mannering, and well-nigh brought to a fatal termination the quarrel which his appearance occasioned.
Glossin rode slowly back to Ellangowan, pondering on what he had heard, and more and more convinced that the active and successful prosecution of this mysterious business was an opportunity of ingratiating himself with Hazlewood and Mannering to be on no account neglected. Perhaps, also, he felt his professional acuteness interested in bringing it to a successful close. It was, therefore, with great pleasure that, on his return to his house from Kippletringan, he heard his servants announce hastily, "that Mac-Guffog, the thief-taker, and twa or three concurrents, had a man in hands in the kitchen waiting for his honour."
He instantly jumped from horseback, and hastened into the house. "Send my clerk here directly; ye'll find him copying the survey of the estate in the little green parlour. Set things to rights in my study, and wheel the great leathem chair up to the writing-table--set a stool for Mr. Scrow. --Scrow (to the clerk, as he entered the presence-chamber), hand down Sir George Mackenzie on Crimes; open it at the section Vis Publica et Privata, and fold down a leaf at the passage 'anent the bearing of unlawful weapons.' Now lend me a hand off with my muckle-coat, and hang it up in the lobby, and bid them bring up the prisoner--I trow I'll sort him-- but stay, first send up Mac-Guffog.--Now, Mac-Guffog, where did ye find this chield?"
Mac-Guffog, a stout bandy-legged fellow, with a neck like a bull, a face like a--firebrand, and a most portentous squint of the left eye, began, after various contortions by way of courtesy to the justice, to tell his story, eking it out by sundry sly nods and knowing winks, which appeared to bespeak an intimate correspondence of ideas between the narrator and his principal auditor. "Your honour sees I went down to yon place that your honour spoke o', that's kept by her that your honour kens o', by the sea-side.-- So, says she, what are you wanting here? Ye'll be come wi' a broom in your pocket frae Ellangowan?--So, says I, deil a broom will come frae there awa, for ye ken, says I, his honour Ellangowan himself in former times--"
"Well, well," said Glossin, "no occasion to be particular, tell the essentials."